Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 94 Miss Seagull

27 Ti'an Street

Green inserted the key and turned the switch to open the door.

The door opened.

A smell of soap and alkali mixed with the aroma of hot soup wafted over. It felt like home, but it had lost its usual vitality.

In the living room, Mrs. Lefebvre was standing on tiptoe with her back to the door, laboriously wiping the dust off the frame of an oil painting above the fireplace with a damp cloth.

It was a portrait of one of the Hayes family's ancestors. The middle-aged gentleman in the painting had a serious look in his eyes, as if he were scrutinizing this broken home.

Hearing the door open, Mrs. Lefever turned around abruptly, nearly dropping the rag in her hand.

"Mr. Morris! You're back!" She immediately put on a slightly nervous smile and hurried over to greet him, taking the coat and hat that Green had taken off.

"There's chicken soup simmering on the stove, for Mrs. Hayes and Miss Emily. I'll get you a bowl."

"Yes, thank you," Green replied politely. "How are Aunt and Emily? Have they eaten?"

"This is not good. It seems like Madam didn't sleep all night. She was like a different person after coming out this morning... she kept crying. I made some calming tea with passionflower, chamomile, and lavender, and she should be asleep now."

Mrs. Lefever wiped her hands with her apron, her voice slightly hoarse, quite different from when she arrived in the morning.

"This morning, a group of gentlemen and ladies from the port authority came... bringing many things, but neither the wives nor the daughters were seen. One of the gentlemen leading the group seemed particularly distressed and even left a separate donation as a token of sympathy..."

"I heard there was a fire at Viscount Fairfax Manor last night, Mr. Hayes, is that...?"

Mrs. Lefever did not continue speaking.

Green knew what she wanted to ask and nodded after a slight hesitation. This kind of thing couldn't be kept secret, and he knew without asking who the leader was.

Mrs. Lefever's eyes instantly welled up with tears. She covered her mouth and choked out, "Oh my God, Mr. Hayes really..."

The next second, she blinked hard, forcing back the tears that were welling up.

As a professional maid, Mrs. Lefevere knew that tears at this moment would only add to the sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Morris... I lost my composure. I'll get you some chicken soup."

But she didn't turn and leave immediately; instead, she hesitated for a moment. "Miss Emily hasn't eaten anything either. I knocked on the door, but she didn't answer..."

"Okay, I understand. Let them rest first. Serve them a bowl of chicken soup and leave it by the door," Green said in a deep voice.

After saying that, he walked to the living room, sat down opposite the sofa where Uncle Victor usually sat, and stared at the sofa in a daze.

Green's gaze swept over the bouquets of lilies and white roses and gifts piled on the coffee table, as well as a bulging envelope addressed to Sylvia Hayes.

He had to find a way to pull the family out of their grief as soon as possible.

Green took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and slowly began to smoke.

Soon, Mrs. Lefever placed the bowl of chicken soup on the table and then took another bowl upstairs.

Green stubbed out his cigarette, got up and sat down at the table. He drank heavily without tasting his food, and then filled another bowl.

Anyone else in this family can fall apart, but he can't.

During the meal, he began to plan for what would happen next.

My uncle's pension and condolence money should be enough to support me for a while, but if I rely solely on my salary from the port authority, I'm afraid I'll be unable to make ends meet.

Mrs. Lefevere cannot leave in the short term; Emily is the last vestige of dignity for her aunt and uncle, and there are also the costs of Sula's education.

Green also needs to consider special expenses in the future, such as psychological counseling for his aunt and Emily, including the purchase of special materials.

It's important to know that the cost of a psychologist is high; a two-hour session can cost around 700 sols.

Although Green is now a full-time employee of the port authority and earns a salary of £3.50, it is clear that this is far from enough.

He needs more and more stable sources of income.

"Joining the Night's Watch... should bring in quite a stipend, right...?"

Perhaps... we could use his position at the Port Authority and Henry's role as a "front man" to carry out some covert operations?

"No, the risk is too high, and it could easily leave evidence against someone, especially someone who keeps a diary..."

Next time, I can ask how much the Elwin allowance is; just make sure we can break even for now.

Secondly, there is a very crucial question that has been constantly flashing through his mind since he returned last night: the path to advancement through the apprenticeship route.

What is Sequence 8 of the "Apprentice" path, and what about Sequence 7? How to advance as quickly as possible has become a top priority.

"What if... what if the person on the homepage doesn't have the Sequence 8 recipe through the 'Apprentice' pathway? Lillian said she doesn't have the subsequent recipes."

"This route seems to be obscure or... hidden." Green closed his eyes and fell into deep thought.

If there were no Night's Watchmen, then he only had one option left: to find the black market. Although Olivier had explicitly warned him of the dangers of the black market, sometimes, people have no choice.

He needed to find out the connections beforehand and make preparations. Money, always money. The prices of potion ingredients or recipes on the black market were absolutely staggering.

Furthermore, both the Night Watch and the Garden of Prosperity point to the Historical and Archaeological Society.

He needs to go with Anaïs as soon as possible to complete the mission. Perhaps there will be some extra reward, or perhaps they can find the sequence recipe for the 'Apprentice' path.

After gathering his thoughts, Green pulled a business card from his pocket. He looked at the name Olivier Tours and the phone number below it.

After much hesitation, he got up and dialed the number above.

After the phone rang for 10 seconds, just as Green was about to hang up, the call was answered.

"Hello, this is the front desk of St. George's Hospice. Who are you looking for?" A middle-aged woman's voice came from the phone.

"Ah, hello, I'm Green Morris. Could you please speak to Mr. Olivier Tours? Thank you," Green said casually.

Greene's reason for contacting Olivier was simple: to find out if he had regained consciousness and how he was doing; it would always be good to make a phone call and offer his condolences.

Regardless of whether the other party is awake or not, he should make some gesture, especially now that the Night's Watch has extended an olive branch to him.

Green is not a novice without social experience; interpersonal skills are needed everywhere.

He suddenly remembered Henry, that shrewd man, and realized that he himself needed to improve in this area.

As Green expected, the woman on the phone politely replied, "I'm sorry, Mr. Tour hasn't been feeling well these past few days. Would you like me to connect you with another consultant?"

Is it really that secret...?

"Yes, either way is fine, thank you."

"Okay, please wait a moment, I will transfer you to another number."

A few clicking sounds came from the receiver, followed by a brief busy tone.

Green held the receiver, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the glaring lilies in the living room.

Mrs. Lefever tiptoed down from the second floor and mouthed "I've left it at the door" to him. Green nodded slightly.

"Feed?" A slightly tired, clear female voice came from inside, sounding like Clarice.

"I am Green—"

"Yes, I know what you want to ask."

The voice on the phone interrupted Green, "Are you available?"

Green paused for a moment, then said, "Convenient."

"Come here, Green."

Clarice said casually, with a businesslike tone, "17 St. George Street. When you get to the front desk, just tell them Seagull sent you."

Green wrote down the address. "Okay, I'll be right there."

"Okay," Clarisse responded, then hung up the phone without saying anything more.

The receiver was busy.

Green put down the phone and stood there pondering for a moment. This way of meeting... it's a bit like stealing, isn't it?

Still at the police station...

Judging from Clarice's tone... it didn't sound like a simple consolation or notification of her starting work.

Is it about that brooch?

Or perhaps the details of last night need further verification? Or maybe Alvin has already conveyed his position on "reserving custody rights," and the church needs more formal communication?

Green stopped thinking about it and turned to walk towards the kitchen, where Mrs. Lefevere was washing the soup pot.

"Mrs. Lefevere, I need to go out to the police station to handle some... matters concerning my uncle."

Green found a plausible excuse, "I'm leaving the house in your care. Keep an eye on Aunt and Emily, and pay attention to Sula's mood when she comes home from school. Right now... we can't afford any more problems at home."

Mrs. Lefever dried her hands and nodded emphatically. "Don't worry, Mr. Morris. I'll take good care of the lady and young ladies. The chicken soup is warming on the stove; they can have it whenever they want."

"Thanks."

Green paused, then added, "If... if Miss Emily makes any unusual noises or says anything strange, you don't need to interfere, but please be sure to write it down and let me know when I get back."

He worried that Emily, in her extreme emotional state, might do something irrational or reveal information she shouldn't.

Although Mrs. Lefevere did not understand what the "strange words" specifically referred to, she still responded seriously:

"I understand, sir."

Green put on his coat and hat, glanced at the second floor one last time, turned around, and pushed open the door to leave.